They called him King Midas, but he insisted that people call him Bob.
And he was the richest man in the world.
He invested heavily in internet companies, riding the hype until right before the bottom dropped out, moving his money to the companies with actual business plans and sources of revenue.
Then, he started to invest in monkeys.
Pretty soon, his ranch was filled with monkeys of all kinds and sizes.
“Gonna get them to type Shakespeare?” asked a reporter.
“That would be stupid,” said Bob. “Shakespeare’s already written.”
And he pointed at the reporter. “Kill.”
The monkeys obeyed.
Tag: cliche
The Bloody Cupcake
Joe tried to scream again, but his mouth was gagged, and he’d lost a lot of blood.
Luke.
That bastard.
He knew!
How? Who told him?
Luke wiped the blood from his knife. “Hey, I can check one thing off my resolution list.”
Eyes stinging from gasoline dripping from his hair, Joe stared at the cupcake, topped with a sickly sheen of blood.
His blood.
“Oh, right,” said Luke. “The candle. Silly me.”
Luke took out a candle and stuck it in the cupcake.
And lit it.
“Make a wish,” said Luke, and he flicked the lit candle at Joe.
The Juggler
Emmett The Post-Modern Juggler didn’t juggle balls or torches or chainsaws.
He juggled schedules.
From an entertainment aspect, okay, he was boring as hell. Just sitting up there on stage, tapping away at his iPad and syncing it to his laptop and phone.
But the Time Management consultants were fascinated how he dealt with scheduling conflicts while engaged in so many different tasks and doing them well.
“He’s on vacation in Paris while giving a presentation in Chicago and attending his grandmother’s funeral?” they said. “He’s amazing!”
The lawyers weren’t impressed. “Let’s see him bill all that like we do.”
Never
Remember that game
Back in High School
Senior year.
The last of the season
Or, was it the state finals?
The state finals,
So hot, the grass drank in the water
From the clack clack clacking sprinklers
Like the town drunk.
Two outs, bottom of the ninth
And you hit one over the fence so far,
I swear, it’s still going.
Rounding the bases,
Grinning wide as the sky,
And you fell to the ground
Threw down your glove
And… and…
Wait. You weren’t the batter
It was you on the mound
Blowing the save.
You never pitched again.
Never.
Verification
When customers call us, they’re supposed to answer a verification question.
If they don’t have a verification question on file, they need to log into our site and set one.
“But I’m not in front of a computer!” they growl.
I wonder if they pull this crap on people at the bank.
“I left my checkbook and wallet at home,” they yell. “I don’t know my account number. I have no ID. And I never let you put my fingerprint on file. Now give me my money.”
They are resellers, who are entrusted to other people’s stuff.
Seriously misplaced trust.
The Voices
Every so often when we try to do something, we hear those voices:
You can’t do it.
You’re not good enough.
Don’t bother trying.
But we don’t always hear them. And other people never hear them at all.
So, I set up a 900 number that people can call to be connected to a room full of critical and pessimistic people.
Sure, I could write an app to simulate that kind of thing, cycling those voices in a loop, but when I tested it, those voices played over and over in my head, and I just gave up on it.
Diamonds Are
When Marilyn sang that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, she wasn’t talking about the precious stone.
She was actually talking about Diamonds. Capital D.
The Diamond Brothers, Sven and Olaf.
Oh, sure, you saw Marilyn in the paper with Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, and then there were the rumors about those damned Kennedys, but that was nothing compared to things Marilyn did the Diamonds.
What? Were they a threesome?
No.
They did housework for her. Some heavy lifting, killing nasty spiders.
Very dependable, but lousy at reading prescription labels.
They quietly went home to Sweden after the funeral.
Chance
Saturday night at the Last Chance Saloon.
Two brothers sat at the bar.
“It’s Friday, Slim,” one said. “You planning on leaving town again?”
“Yup,” said the other, and he finished his beer. “Wanna come with?”
“Can’t. Sheriff says the cliche doesn’t work if Slim and None leave town.”
The bartender put down three beers, setting one down for himself.
“Papa Fat and Momma Not A Fucking Chance sure picked some strange names for y’all,” he said.
“I still don’t understand why they call me Junior,” said Slim.
All three nodded, drank their beers, and waited for the noon stage.
Unhappy New Year
Due to a logistical error, the Baby New Year ended up in the womb of a crack-smoking teen runaway in Boise, Idaho, and he was born two months premature.
It caught the world completely off guard.
Not only did everything really suck for a while as the unhealthy year struggled to survive inside its incubator, but companies shed hundreds of thousands of jobs because the whole Christmas shopping season was lost.
“We’ll make Valentine’s Day the big shopping day!” they said, but there’s only so many chocolates and edible panties the market can bear.
Here’s hoping next year’s better, friends.
Resolutions List
I look back at last year’s resolutions and wince.
Not a single one accomplished.
Not a single one done.
So, I scratch out the year and write the next one above it.
Just like I did last year.
And the year before.
I guess I’d better update the actual list.
Weight loss. Let’s see.
I scratch out “20” and put in “40.”
Under “Visit Grandma” I change “At the hospital” to “At the cemetery.”
I scratch out “Monthly” and write “On her birthday.”
Wait. When’s her birthday?
I scratch it out again.
Heck, she was senile. She couldn’t remember either.